


Before the Dawn, the Darkest Hour

by burntotears



Series: Stisaac Prompts [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Major Character Injury, PTSD, Spoilers for Series Finale of Lost, Stilinski Family Feels, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntotears/pseuds/burntotears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is kidnapped by the Alpha pack and permanently injured.  He makes it back home, but he's not quite the same as before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dark Consuming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my-king-and-your-lionheart](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my-king-and-your-lionheart).



> This is my-king-and-your-lionheart's story for the [Stisaac Library](http://stisaaclibrary.tumblr.com/)'s Reblog Contest and is a combination of two different prompts. 
> 
> **my-king-and-your-lionheart** asked for "magic!Stiles or hurt!Stiles" and **littleredghostingcloak** asked for "Stiles having just been a released hostage who was made blind, and Isaac is trying to help him relearn things, but Stiles doesn't want to be around Isaac because he's afraid Isaac thinks he's broken."

“Stiles! Run - get outta here!”

Stiles heard the yelling from somewhere nearby. He looked up to find Scott staring at him, looking frantic and desperate. Stiles gave him a cocky little wave and a smirk that said ‘I got this’ and kept going. Scott squeaked out a weird noise of protest, but then he was plowed over from the side and was physically incapable of coming after Stiles. 

Stiles looked down at his left arm (near his elbow) and pressed a forefinger against one of the intricate swirling marks spanning the length of both his arms and whispered a few words under his breath. The rune glowed a bright blue and then faded to gray before it disappeared from his arm completely. There was a few seconds delay and then his entire person was engulfed in blue flames, licking wildly all around him, but strangely not catching him or anything else alight. The flames encompassed his left arm last, spreading from his shoulder out toward the tips of his fingers, then they consumed the crossbow he was holding along with it. 

Right. Here we go then.

Stiles weaved through the chaos circling around him, werewolves gnashing teeth and claws at one another, until he found Deucalion battling it out with Derek. He lifted his crossbow and aimed carefully, letting a bolt fly directly between Deucalion’s shoulder blades, causing the Alpha to cry out and fall forward on his hands and knees. The blue flames that encased the bolt turned red hot as it lodged deep into the werewolf’s flesh. Derek looked up in surprise, gave Stiles a curt nod, and ran off to help the nearest werewolf. 

But after their leader fell, the other Alphas rallied around him, the combined twin Alphas carrying him from the scene, leaving Derek and Scott’s packs to deal with the aftermath.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asked, already at Stiles’ side in moments, and touched him all over, pressing hands to different parts of his body before dragging Stiles in close to his chest and breathing large pulls off his neck like Stiles was a drug he needed his daily fix from.

He tried to shrug off Isaac’s concern, though it wasn’t for lack of caring. “Yeah, dude, totally good. Did you see me down that asshole? I was fucking kicking ass.” Stiles’ fingers were in Isaac’s hair without real consciousness of it and he was looking over Isaac’s shoulder at Scott, his other hand roaming over Isaac’s shoulder, arm, waist, back, seeking out imperfections.

Isaac shook his head and pulled back. “I didn’t see. Sorry that I missed it.” He looked genuinely displeased that he hadn’t seen Stiles in action and that just encouraged Stiles to continue.

“Not a problem, baby, I can tell you _alllll_ about it! So the dude was all ripping at Derek’s throat and Derek was going down, he was going down _fast_ , and Scott was trying to help but he was failing and he saw me - Scott saw me and he was like ‘Stiles, help us! You’re our only hope!’ and I smiled and tried to reassure him that I knew that and that I was going to save the day - I _always do_. So I got my rune ready and I shot that motherfucker in the head and I’m pretty sure he’s dying right now.” He laughed; Scott and Isaac were both rolling their eyes, though Isaac was still gazing fondly at him.

“Dude, like maybe 5% of what you just said actually happened,” Scott groaned.

Stiles shrugged him off. “And it’ll be 100% once I document it that exact way in the journals, Scott. The power of the pen is mighty in my grasp!” He held his fist up in the air like he was holding something in it and Scott groaned all over again.

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re alright?” Isaac was asking again as they lay together in Stiles’ bed after Isaac snuck through his window as to not alarm the Sheriff. Stiles was on his back and Isaac was pressed along the line of Stiles’ body on his side, tracing lazily over dark swirls tattooed across Stiles’ chest. Stiles had long since done away with his insecurity about being “only human” and therefore treated as fragile; he could take care of things himself and he knew that Isaac asked out of concern for Stiles’ well-being rather than just not believing him capable.

Stiles’ voice was even as he replied, not annoyed, but a little exasperated at answering the same question again. “I’m _fine_ , baby; I promise I’ll tell you if something happens, okay?” It wouldn’t though. Stiles had been studying magic for a year and a half now and the chances of him getting hurt with all of his protective runes active were slim.

Isaac sighed and pressed his lips to Stiles’ shoulder. “I know. I know, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

Stiles was shaking his head. He hooked his finger under Isaac’s chin and turned his head so he could look him in the eye. “Don’t be. Now - are _you_ okay?” 

Isaac hummed and tilted his face so he was able to kiss Stiles’ fingers gently, causing Stiles’ eyes to close. “I’ve definitely seen worse days than this. I’m more worried about later, when they get back on their feet again.”

Stiles shrugged and pulled Isaac’s face by the chin toward his mouth. “We’ll have a plan-” Stiles said between the feather-light brushing of his lips on Isaac’s, “-and more time; we’ll be fine-” he kissed along Isaac’s jaw before returning to to his lips. “Now we _should_ be more worried about which one of us will be coming first...” he trailed off, deepening the kiss and tugging at Isaac’s shoulders to pull his boyfriend more fully on top of himself.

 

Stiles had been wrong. He’d never been so wrong in his life. Rather than wait until Deucalion was back to full strength, the Alphas wasted no time and attacked Stiles a few days later; they bunted him into the back of a moving van while he was headed to his Jeep, alone. He tried his hardest to fend them off, but when you’re one magic user against three Alpha werewolves, you don’t tend to last long. Well, at least not to prevent them from nabbing you.

They had abandoned the apartment complex for something more sinister and much less sanitary - an old dilapidated cabin in the forest that had seen camping trips far better than this one. They didn’t bother locking him up since he could just break out at this point. No, instead they all sat around him and watched--waited. Stared, growled, laughed, and waited.

“Those runes are going to wear off eventually. And once they do, there’s nowhere for you to hide. Your anti-werewolf protection bubble is gonna pop - just like we’re gonna do to your stupid little head,” Kali sneered at him.

And she was right. 

He could hold them off right now because touching him would cause them far more injuries than was sustainable and he still had some offensive runes he could activate. But runes were always a temporary solution. Once activated, a rune would only last a certain amount of time determined by a few different factors: the potency of the rune itself and the physical strength, mental stability, and overall experience of the caster. None of these things were of unlimited supply, especially for Stiles who didn’t have as much experience as someone like Deaton did. And then there was the limited timeline for runes that weren't activated, very heavily determined by the magical potency of that specific rune.

He really was just delaying the inevitable, though he had a sliver of hope that they’d all come and save him... that Isaac would save him. And he was supposed to be meeting Isaac at his house later that day. His boyfriend was going to lose his fucking mind and there was nothing Stiles could do for it.

Stiles waited, slowly watching the useless runes on his body decay, fading into nothing as the days passed. He tracked the others obsessively, a sort of countdown clock to his imminent demise. Once the Adderall flushed out of his system completely, he became uncomfortably fatigued, his muscles felt like they were melting inside his body, and the jitters came intermittently between sleeping and keeping track of his remaining runes.

The day his runes deactivated, he was alone with Kali and Ethan. By this time he couldn't even drag his ass up off the floor, much less fend off werewolves out for blood. They snarled and sneered at him as they waited for the countdown to hit zero, the signal that they could touch him with no danger.

And when his time was finally up, Stiles looked toward the ceiling and said, "See ya soon, Mom."

 

Stiles had been wrong - it might become his new thing. Regardless, he was still very much alive.

He stumbled out into the street and a truck slammed on its brakes and swerved to miss him. Stiles’ head shot up toward where the truck skidded to. A man jumped out and ran over to him; he was hovering near Stiles, but he didn’t actually touch him. “Holy - are you alright, son? We need to get you to the hospital. Who-who should I call?” 

Stiles’ first thought was Isaac, had been since they started kissing one another behind Scott’s back. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Stilinski. Sheriff Stilinski... he’s my dad,” he wheezed out. It was the first time he’d spoken in a while and he was surprised anything had come out at all. It felt like his voice should’ve withered and died by this point.

“The _sheriff_? Shit. C’mon, kid, let’s get you to the hospital and I’ll call him on the way.” He tugged Stiles by the arm and led him to his truck. Stiles went willingly. If this guy wanted to kidnap him - wanted to kill him, at this point Stiles was better off. He would welcome death with open arms.

 

The next few days were a jumble of visitors, sleep, and surgeries. Eventually things calmed down and Stiles was declared stable, but he still had to stay in the hospital a few more days just in case any internal injuries started to act up. Of course the sheriff was there the whole time and the rest of the werewolves (and Allison and Lydia) took turns visiting, but Scott and Isaac were there almost day and night - at least they were as long as Sheriff Stilinski would let them. Eventually he forced them to go back to school and sleep at home. 

It was all very touching, really, but Stiles was getting tired. He was tired of his days alternating between telling the police what had happened, where he’d been, and visits from his friends who insisted on small talk intermittent with questions about his time with the Alphas thrown in when it seemed appropriate.

Isaac was... Isaac was amazing. He was strong and caring. He did everything that Stiles asked and more that he didn’t. He was there consistently and wouldn’t leave until he was kicked out by the hospital staff or forced out by the sheriff. His dad said that Isaac slept in the bed with him the first couple of nights when Stiles had been conked out from surgeries and pain meds. He read Stiles comic books when he was asleep and _A Song of Ice and Fire_ when he was awake, complete with character voices (though his British accent could use work). Isaac was almost insufferably perfect at being a boyfriend, at being supportive and loving.

And Stiles couldn’t handle it.

 

The sheriff set up Stiles downstairs in the living room for the time being; he said that he didn’t need Stiles popping out staples or crumpling into a heap at the bottom of the stairs just because he had to take a piss and it wasn’t like Stiles could quite argue that logic. However Stiles knew that the reality was that he couldn’t even _make_ it up those stairs now and his dad wasn’t going to chance him trying.

Isaac was there, of course, because where else would he be but at Stiles’ side? He helped the sheriff bring Stiles home, set up the bed in the living room, walked Stiles to the bathroom and back to either the bed or the sofa, fed him soup or applesauce or other easy foods that didn’t require a lot of strenuous chewing... just exactly how Stiles had imagined he would be. The sheriff let Isaac stay the night a couple of times that first week so he could curl around Stiles and breathe down his neck while he slept.

It was both comforting and terrifying at the same time to know that Isaac was still there, that he didn’t care about how broken Stiles was now. The problem was that _Stiles_ cared. He cared enough that he began to resent Isaac’s presence at the house all the time, the way that he held Stiles’ elbow almost obsessively when he noticed the slightest inkling that Stiles might try and move. And they both knew that Stiles needed the help but didn’t want it. It wasn’t like Stiles didn’t vocalize his annoyances on this front. But his annoyance morphed into genuine anger and eight days after he’d returned home from the hospital, Stiles lost his collected control.

“For fuck’s sake, Isaac, I’m blind, I’m not a goddamn invalid!” he screamed even though Isaac was standing right next to him with his hand on Stiles’ elbow.

Isaac dropped his hand but still hovered nearby. It was like Isaac was a presence that Stiles could sense without actually seeing him. “ _Stiles_... I know, I just-” He heard Isaac inhale deeply; somehow it sounded like Isaac was relieved that Stiles had finally snapped.

Stiles sneered. “-made a promise to Scott that you’d babysit Stiles so he doesn’t go stumbling into the midst of another pack of Alphas?” 

Isaac’s face blanched and he looked sadly over at Stiles. “W-what? No, that’s not-”

“So you’re telling me that you and Scott haven’t talked about me? About how you’re going to watch over me even _more_ closely now that I’m even _more_ useless than I was before?” He might’ve been taking out a good deal of pent-up frustration on Isaac right then, but it couldn’t be helped. His whole damn life was now just frustration, he had nowhere else for it to go but _out_.

“Stiles. You’re not useless. You were never useless.” Isaac sighed and this time it wasn’t from relief. He was getting a little desperate. “ _I_ love you. Scott loves you. All we want to do is help you in any way that we can. We’re not - we’re not trying to _babysit_ you.”

“Well you know what would help me right now? If you’d leave and stop hovering. I can fucking _walk_ all on my own, okay, I don’t need your help to move my goddamn legs!” He was screaming toward the end and he could hear Mr. Stilinski coming down the stairs.

Isaac was frozen in place. He didn’t seem able to respond to that. Mr. Stilinski walked up behind him and put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder. It was a testament to Isaac’s shock that he didn’t even flinch. 

“I’ll take it from here, Isaac. I’m-I’m sorry, son.” And he looked genuinely sorry, staring into the face of his son’s boyfriend. Mr. Stilinski liked Isaac; he always had, a hell of a lot more than Lydia, considering how she had treated Stiles for so long. Granted he hadn’t seen a lot of Isaac’s more snarky side, but that was for the best.

Isaac looked up into Mr. Stilinski’s face and his eyes looked blank. “Um... yes sir. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” He honestly didn’t know how to finish that.

“I know. He knows it too. Go on home, kiddo.” He rubbed Isaac’s back a little before giving him a small pat that made Isaac cringe a little. Well at least he was more aware now.

“Okay. B-bye, Stiles. I...I love you.” Isaac turned and walked out and tried to pretend that he didn’t hear Stiles’ crying from the car, wiping his own eyes with his sleeve.

That was the first night that Stiles relived his trauma. It was the first time he’d expressly thought of it since it'd happened. So far he’d been in a daze of annoyance and pain. But it was an experience he couldn't ignore for long.

_Kali’s foot was pressed into Stiles’ throat, but not yet hard enough that his airflow was restricted. “You think you’re clever with all your little magic tricks, don’t you human?”_

_Stiles gave her a bored looking shrug. He definitely wasn’t bored, but he was tired enough that he didn’t quite give a shit what she did to him for being a smartass. They’d already been at this for an hour and after a while it just didn’t seem important to react the way they hoped he would. “Maybe,” he croaked._

_This earned him a foot shoved deeper into his esophagus so that he wasn’t able to breathe anymore. “Being a smartass isn’t going to make things any easier for you.” Ethan said that._

_Kali let up on his throat to allow a response. “How much worse could it get?” was all that Stiles asked. That hadn’t been the right response._

_“If you’re asking that already, you are in for a rude awakening,” Kali sneered and crouched down, straddling his waist uncomfortably while she held his shoulders down against the floor. She bent down and breathed against Stiles’ ear, making him shiver in pure disgust. His first thought was that Isaac was going to be so fucking angry about this; he was never okay with Stiles having someone else’s scent on him. It was probably the only time that Stiles ever saw Isaac get highly possessive over Stiles, though if he was honest, he thought it was pretty hot._

_“Where’s your magic now, boy?” Kali taunted in a whisper, effectively pulling him out of his own thoughts as she lifted him up by his shirt and shoved him hard against the wooden floor. The cabin was old, but even so Stiles knew that it took a lot of force to make the wood crack underneath him like that. His shoulders were stinging painfully and he’d find out later that a nail had embedded into one of them, pulling blithe laughter from his captors._

Stiles woke up drenched in sweat, shaking like a leaf and screaming at the top of his lungs, already in the circle of his father’s arms.

“You’re safe now, kiddo, you’re home with your dad and I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” The sheriff rocked his son while he held him, face white and stomach turning over when he considered what his son had been dreaming about.

Stiles was sobbing and could only just croak out, “ _Dad_ ,” off the edge of a whimper, sounding utterly defeated and scared out of his mind. He turned his head to the side and threw up all over his pillow.

 

Stiles had to start therapy and orientation and mobility training toward the end of his third week back once he was mostly mobile. He was still healing from his extensive injuries, but the sooner he got started, the sooner he would be independent again. Well, that’s what they told him, at least. He was measured for his ( _very own!_ ) folding cane, which would arrive in a few weeks, but for now he had to borrow one from his O&M trainer to practice with. Because he was _absolutely_ practicing. 

When he wasn’t being schooled on how to be a “proper” blind member of society, he was enjoying quality time with his therapist. Deflection had always been a skill he wielded masterfully, but he got heaps of practice while in the room with his therapist. And how many times could one be asked in a single day if he was “doing okay today”? You’d be surprised.

Stiles was putting absolutely zero effort into his new lifestyle. As far as he was concerned, he could stay at home, sit in his room, and wallow there for the rest of his life. That’s all that he would ever be capable of doing. He’d never be able to use magic again and it was just another thing to add to the disadvantages stacked up against him now. Defeatism was another stellar quality making up his personality post-trauma. 

Everyone noticed the changes, but no one more than his father, Scott, and Isaac, because they were the most affected by it. Stiles had no patience for anything anymore, he bit off everyone’s head more times than he could count, and the breaking down he did about twice (or more) a week wasn’t exciting in the least. Mr. Stilinski would forgive him of pretty much anything now, whereas Scott had lost his patience after the second week. Isaac was a bit back and forth, but he mostly let his frustration out when he was far away from Stiles, something Scott just couldn’t bother doing anymore.

“Stiles, you’re being a dick again,” Scott groaned.

“Well there’s an easy fix to that problem,” Stiles said.

Scott nodded in agreement. “Yeah - _stop_.”

“No - _leave_ ,” Stiles responded blandly.

Scott did leave. He still loved Stiles and he always would, but there was just a point where he couldn’t deal with him anymore. When that first month had shown no improvement in Stiles’ motivation or attitude, Scott said he’d come around again when he was calmer. Stiles hadn’t heard from him since. Okay sure, that had only been about six hours ago, but Stiles and Scott had a system that had yet to fail them. They walked away and then about two hours later they came back and apologized, totally wiping the slate clean. But Scott hadn’t called.

The moment he considered that maybe Scott hadn’t been joking, he slipped back into his own head.

_Stiles was bent over on his hands and knees, coughing up copious amounts of blood onto the floor, which was already stained with his blood at this point. He knew somewhere in his head that this was a bad thing, that if he kept losing blood like this he’d die, but there were parts of him still welcoming it._

_Aiden came out of nowhere and stepped on the back of his calf and he screamed from the pain of cracking bone, blood spewing freely from his mouth as he cried out his pain and collapsed against the floor on his face. Ethan was cackling somewhere off to Stiles’ right while Kali knelt down next to him, tutting quietly. She ran her claw just hard enough against his cheek to draw blood. “You need to rest up and rehydrate, Stiles. We can’t have you dying on us quite yet. Duke still has something he wants to share with you; I bet you’re gonna **love** it.”_

 

Regardless of the way that Stiles was dicking everyone over, his dad was still right by his side. His father was _always_ there, always able to pick him up, help him out, show him the way (literally, of course, since Stiles was completely off course metaphorically). The sheriff somehow was always present around the house and it never really crossed Stiles’ mind that he hadn’t seen his dad in uniform in a while. The only time he seemed to leave the house now was to stock up on food at the grocery store or to take Stiles to therapy and O &M training. 

Stiles heard him at the computer a lot now too. The sheriff had never been big on computers, preferring to work out his cases with pencil, paper, evidence files and his brain working on overdrive. So Stiles was pretty certain that his dad wasn’t spending all that time working on a case. He had a feeling that his dad was researching Stiles’ disability and how to deal with it. He wanted to be angry about it, but if the situation was reversed, Stiles would’ve been doing the same thing.

He also heard Isaac and the sheriff whisper in hushed voices for nigh on ten minutes after Isaac would say he was leaving. Stiles’ dad knew about the supernatural influx in Beacon Hills now and even though it had taken him some time to get used to, he seemed to be doing okay with it now. Of course what were his options? Either live in denial or just accept what is and deal with it accordingly. Stiles had a feeling that Isaac and the sheriff were plotting something together, but neither would give him a straight answer when he asked about it and eventually he just stopped caring.

“How is training going?” the sheriff asked him while they sat at the dinner table. That was a new thing - they ate real dinners at the table all the time. Probably something his dad had found online. 

“Swimmingly,” Stiles replied snottily. “I’m just learning _so much_ about what it is to be a useless societal member.”

He heard the sheriff shift in his seat and try not to sigh. He’d argued with Stiles a few times on the subject, but Stiles wouldn’t relent. So he said, “Do you feel more confident with your cane?”

Stiles snorted. “Oh yeah. I can hit people with _precision_ , Dad.”

“Stiles, it’s not-” his father began.

“What? A toy? A weapon? I’m fucking _blind_ , Dad, I can get away with murder at this point. Who’s going to point the finger at the blind person?” Stiles laughed harshly. “I want more mac n’ cheese,” he tacked on the demand, scraping his plate with his fork.

“Okay.”

 

Isaac was still there. Despite the way that Stiles treated him, despite his inability to do pretty much _anything_ for himself, despite how he’d treated Scott, Isaac stuck around. Stiles didn’t deserve Isaac’s love; he didn’t deserve Isaac’s _anything_. He found it surprisingly more difficult to turn Isaac away from him than he’d originally thought. He’d spent quite a lot of his useless hours going over ways he could make Isaac hate him. But Isaac didn’t seem quite so willing to turn sour like Scott had, which only propelled him further toward that need to get Isaac away from him as soon as possible. Because not only did Stiles not deserve Isaac, but Isaac didn’t deserve what Stiles was doing to him and his life.

It didn’t matter that Stiles believed he was doing the right thing; hurting Isaac was never something he wanted to do, but it was the only way he could get him to go. Not that knowing made it any easier to do. He would never be able to burn the image of Isaac’s face from his mind. At least it gave him something to think on when he was alone.

“Stiles, I told you that it didn’t matter. I’m fine with everything. We’ll - we’re gonna get through this, baby...” Isaac was grasping. Stiles hated to hear him plead like that. Isaac hadn’t sounded like that for a while after they started dating and now Stiles could hear it in his voice all the time. It made him sick to his stomach.

“Isaac, you’re not _listening_! There’s nothing to _get through_. It’s just not working. We’re not compatible anymore. I’ve changed a lot, my life has changed, and I don’t-” he found the words choking him, like they didn’t want to be accomplices in his hateful lies. “I don’t want you anymore.” He couldn’t put it much plainer than that.

Isaac was crying freely. “You’re lying,” he gasped. “Stiles, you’re lying, you just don’t-”

“Don’t tell me what I am and how I feel!” Stiles snapped. “I’m so tired of you and Scott telling me who I really am and what I’m really capable of and that you know better than I do!” Stiles jumped up, looking blankly toward where he knew Isaac was, though he couldn’t see it for himself. “This is me! This is who I am, Isaac! I’m not the same person I used to be, I’m _not_ , and it’s time you just accepted that _this_ -”

Isaac was shaking his head. “No no no no no, I won’t accept that, I _won’t_. I know that you are just pushing me-”

Stiles’ eyes were as wild as they could look for being completely dead. “I’m pushing you to fucking _get out_ of my house and leave me the fuck alone! I - don’t - want - you - anymore. I don’t want you _here_ anymore! Just get the fuck out! Get out, get out, get out!”

Isaac’s eyes were shining with tears, falling one after the other as he looked desperately up at Stiles. At that moment Stiles could only imagine what Isaac looked like. “ _Stiles_ -” he pleaded one final time, but Sheriff Stilinski had made his way up to Stiles’ bedroom at that point.

“I think that’s enough, Stiles.” 

Stiles nodded mutely and turned his back to the both of them, tears flowing from his eyes freely but silently.

“C’mon, son,” the sheriff said, and Stiles knew he wasn’t talking to him. At least one decent Stilinski still existed in this room. His father would do his best to placate Isaac and probably take him back to Melissa’s house, telling him all about how Stiles was traumatized and didn’t mean any of it and that Isaac did not deserve that treatment so maybe he should listen and stay away for a while and Stiles would find his way back to him once he was feeling better...

Most of that was true. But he wouldn’t go back to Isaac. He could _never_ -

_“I’m so excited! Stiles, you’ve been waiting so patiently, so I think it’s time to give you that surprise now!” Kali sounded as sadistic as ever, but Stiles knew what she was talking about. She’d been hinting at Deucalion's improving health for the last day and he had known it was only a matter of time. Apparently that time was up._

_“Hello, Stiles,” he heard that eerie voice speak, though he stayed out of Stiles’ field of vision. He didn’t sound quite the same as before (possible that he wasn’t fully healed, but was mobile enough to torture Stiles with the rest of them), but it didn’t make Stiles feel any less afraid. “I’ve been waiting to speak with you. After that lovely gift you left me with in the woods, I have been **dying** to repay the favor.” _

_Stiles finally knew where he was. Deucalion sat down in a chair directly behind Stiles’ head, but he was currently in too much pain to even attempt to look back. They’d been keeping him alive and well enough to be conscious for whatever Deucalion had in store. They took some of the pain away, reset some of his bones, shoved water into him, gave him a little food, and even fed him some Adderall to tide him through. All of it **just** enough to keep him breathing. But Deucalion was probably going to kill him, finally finish him off, and he was dreading it and hoping for it all at the same time._

_Deucalion shoved his hand under Stiles’ chin and tugged back so Stiles had no choice but to look up at him. “Have you ever wondered what it was like to be handicapped, Stiles?” he mused. He apparently was waiting for an actual answer._

_Stiles spat, “Not really,” at him._

_“Most don’t and why would they? No one really expects to be - say, kidnapped - at any point in his life. Yet here you are. After you shared your gift with me, I wanted to share one of mine with you.”_

_Stiles’ eyes grew wide as saucers. Deucalion was holding an innocent enough looking glass that held a clear liquid inside. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume it was something as bland as water, but his mind was racing at the possibilities._

_“I can save you the trouble. It’s sulfuric acid.” Deucalion swished it around a bit in the glass. “Worried about your pretty face?” Deucalion teased. “Don’t worry, I have a very specific home in mind for this.”_

_Stiles had figured out his fate after the Alpha had told him what was in the container. He knew what Deucalion was planning to do and he would rather be dead. “Just kill me!” he begged._

_“I think not. That would be far too easy an end. You know as well as I that suffering is far more effective than death.” Kali came over to help Deucalion pull some of the acid into a glass eyedropper. The Alpha smiled deceptively sweet down at Stiles. “For precision, you understand.”_

_For the first time in maybe a day, Stiles began to struggle. Ethan and Aiden held him steady easily enough, not worried in the slightest about breaking a few fingers while they did. Kali knelt down and held his chin and the top of his head steady as Deucalion knelt over him. Stiles clamped his eyes shut and started to cry. “ **Please** ,” he begged, his voice weak and broken. “Please, I’ll do anything. Please don’t...”_

_Deucalion actually stopped. “Would you have stopped if I had asked you the same?”_

_Stiles’ face blanched. He didn’t have to say anything because Deucalion already knew the answer, even without seeing his face._

_“I didn’t think so.”_

_The werewolf felt over his face and wedged open Stiles’ left eye. Stiles’ eyes moved around wildly as he tried to roll them back into his head so he wouldn’t have to watch this happening, but he was too terrified. His heart was a jack hammer inside of his chest, pounding an unsteady rhythm. “Oh God... oh my God...” Stiles croaked out, steadily crying. Having to watch as someone lowered acid toward your eye to blind you was an unbelievable feeling. It was something he would never be able to describe._

_Deucalion squeezed the rubber end of the dropper and Stiles screamed... but nothing happened. The liquid hit his eye, but he didn’t feel anything but **wetness** \--_


	2. The Sun Rising

If there was one thing that Stiles missed most now that his sight was gone, it was seeing Isaac. Staring into his gorgeous blue eyes, roving over every curve, every muscle, every soft piece of flesh with just his gaze, watching that beautiful head of dirty-blonde hair slowly dry and turn curly again... There were _so_ many things that he would miss - driving, watching the sunset, seeing people’s faces when they laughed at his jokes - but that was definitely the highest on the list. He would no longer be able suss out Isaac’s mood by grading his facial expression or watch that beautiful smile light up his entire face when he saw Stiles or just _watch_ Isaac from across the room, so comfortable in his own skin these days or worship his body with only his eyes when they had sex...

No, Stiles had been broken. There was no way to fit all the pieces back into the whole they once had been. All he could do was struggle through what was left of his so-called life, wishing that he hadn’t been spared, if that was even what you could call this hell. They wanted him to suffer, and fuck knew that he _was_. 

“Stilinski.”

Stiles was lying on his back on the bed facing the ceiling (obviously not looking at anything) while the television played _Ginger Snaps_ in the background. He was tossing a ball up into the air and catching it over and over again, inwardly cheering that it had only smacked him in the face a couple of times so far. His head turned toward the door where he heard Scott’s voice come from. He still hadn’t broken the habit of ‘looking’ places. “Coach,” he snarked.

“What are you doing?” Scott’s voice was low; he already sounded annoyed. Besides forced interactions like at school, this was the first time Stiles had heard from Scott in over a month. Stiles spent most of his time alone now, whether at home or at school. Even without being able to see Isaac, Stiles knew that he was watching Stiles. His first day back, Stiles had to duck into the bathroom and barf after hearing Isaac’s voice.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Stiles waved his hand around willy-nilly in the air. “I’m _watching_ TV.” He barked a humorless laugh.

Scott responded immediately. “Oh right. You mean you’re wallowing.”

“Fuck off, Scott,” Stiles wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Yeah, yeah sure. Is there anything else I can do for you while I’m at it, Your Highness?” Scott was being a smartass. Stiles didn’t like it when Scott was a smartass.

“Scott, just go... go away, dude. I don’t wanna deal with you right- _Dad!_ ” he screamed toward the direction of his door so his father could hear him from the living room. It was a well-practiced action at this point.

“Good idea - call your dad. He does like everything for you now, doesn't he? Doesn't even go to work anymore.”

“What’re you talking about?” Stiles’ face scrunched in confusion. He was annoyed by Scott’s presence, but he wouldn’t let information like that slip past him.

Scott huffed. “I'm talking about your dad being suspended from work because he's missed too much time taking care of his son. I’m talking about how you’ve turned the sheriff of Beacon Hills into your personal slave and single-handedly raised the crime rate 10% in a month because no one fears consequences around here anymore. I’m talking about how you broke Isaac’s heart with your stupid stunt, yet he _still_ told me to ask how you were doing. Maybe if you spent more time thinking about what's going on around you instead of only thinking of yourself and how pathetic and _hard_ your life is, you’d know-”

Mr. Stilinski walked up behind Scott and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a bit harder than he normally would. “Scott. I think he needs to rest now.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s fine, Mr. Stilinski. I was just going,” Scott said and walked out of the room.

“You alright, son?” Mr. Stilinski sat on the edge of the bed.

“Um, I’m... yeah, I’m okay, I just... did you get suspended from work?” Stiles turned his head toward where his dad was sitting.

“ _Stiles_. It’s fine, son. You need me here and as long as you need me, I’m gonna be there for you, okay?” The sheriff brushed his hand through Stiles’ hair softly, suddenly reminding Stiles painfully of his mother. Considering what the sheriff said next, he was thinking about her too. “You’re the only thing I’ve got left in this world, Stiles. I’ll protect you with everything I have, even if it means I can’t protect the rest of the town along with you. It’ll be worth it; it’ll always be worth it for you, kiddo.”

Stiles knew that tears were welling in his father’s eyes just by the tone of his voice. In the last two months he’d heard his father cry more than he had in his entire life, and that was including the death of his mother. He just thought that things were hard for both of them right now. He never could have imagined that his father was crying because of what Stiles had become. Even without expressly being told, he now knew that was the reason. “Yeah... o-okay. I just - I just wanna be alone right now. Is that - is that okay, Dad?” He turned on his side away from his father to hide the tears welling in his eyes. It was actually the first time he’d cried in about a week.

The sheriff’s hand stilled in Stiles’ hair, apparently stunned. That had been the first time Stiles had _asked_ him something rather than _commanded_ it of him since he had come home from the hospital. Was he really so bad that such a simple show of deserved respect stopped his father dead in his tracks? What the fuck had he become?

 

“Stiles?” Mary called to him as he looked in the direction of the window. This was the same office he’d sat in years ago being asked the same questions for entirely different reasons. Back then he had panic attacks and now he just relived a nightmare over and over again. He finally turned his head so he was facing her. “I asked if you were doing okay today.”

Stiles closed his eyes and answered, “No.”

“No?” she asked with curiosity and Stiles could hear her pen scratching on her paper. “I thought that you said things were going quite well for you now?”

“And yet I’m still attending therapy,” he responded dryly.

Stiles didn’t need to see her face to know she was smirking. “Indeed. Then what seems to be keeping your day from it’s usual brightness?”

“My dad’s been suspended because of me.”

“Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski has simply taken a leave of ab-”

“I thought I was here so that you could help me, Doc? If so we should probably dispense with the bullshit.”

Another smirk. “Okay, Stiles. Tell me how your father’s suspension was caused by you.”

“He’s been devoting his whole life to me. He’s done everything I’ve told him to without complaint. He doesn’t even reprimand me for being a total shithead. He’s given up everything for me! This town, that job - it was important to him. He’s the best at his job and he really _cares_ \- he cares about people. He’s the lifeblood of this town! And he just abandoned all of it for me.”

“And what is your father to you, Stiles?”

“He’s my hero. He’s everything good I see in the world, everything that I could only hope to be. He’s the best father anyone could ever ask for. He’s-he’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s the only reason I haven’t killed myself.”

“You have suicidal thoughts, Stiles?” She sounded much more concerned as she scribbled fiercely at her pad.

“Yes Doc,” Stiles snarked, “I’ve thought about killing myself. I’ve got nothing left-”

“And you think that suicide is the solution?”

“If the problem is _me_! I’ve been the problem this whole time! I’m the cause of everything! He’s been suspended because of me once already! I’m just constantly fucking things up for him!”

“And you think his life would be better with you gone?”

“No. Not-not exactly. I’m all he has left. I’d destroy him if I... but I’m already destroying him. I’ve destroyed my life completely and that would be okay if I wasn’t destroying theirs too-”

“They? We’re talking about more than just your father?”

“My boyfriend. _Ex_ -boyfriend.”

“But you said that he was better without you. You were just going to cause him heartache by sticking around so his life would be better if you weren’t in it?” She sounded like she was reading off a cue card.

Stiles showed all his teeth in an ugly sneer. “Really?”

“Just restating your words. Did I get them incorrect?”

“No. That’s what I said. And that was all bullshit. You knew it was. I pushed him away, I yelled at him, I was a complete asshole... and Scott and my dad - I’ve pushed them all away. But I’m not the person they loved - I’m not the same person anymore...” Stiles was actually losing himself in his words now. He was musing out loud, sort of forgetting that he wasn’t alone with his thoughts.

“I don’t think they expected you to come away without any battle scars, Stiles.”

“No, but they didn’t expect me to be a raging fuckface either. They didn’t - they _don’t_ \- deserve the way that I’ve treated them. I’ve been thinking of myself first, myself _always_ , and didn’t bother to see how it made _them_ feel.”

“And how _do_ they feel? How do you think that they feel in response to your actions so far?”

“Hurt. Betrayed. Destroyed. Awful. Disheartened. Angry-”

“Do you think that they are angry at you, Stiles?”

“Dad isn’t. Isaac isn’t either. But they are afraid to be anything but supportive. Scott’s angry and he’s shown it. Scott hasn’t bullshitted me about it. He treated me exactly the way that I deserved to be treated - like a total asshole. He’s a good friend.” Stiles was actually smiling a bit fondly thinking of all those times Scott had lost it while dealing with Stiles.

“You believe that being an asshole toward you is a mark of a good friend?”

“Yeah. I mean - like I said, no bullshit, Doc. I don’t want it from you and I don’t want it from my friends.”

“Okay, Stiles, so tell me... what does any of this mean? You’ve told me that quite a lot of negative things exist in your life at the moment, but will they change?”

“Of course they are going to change!” Stiles replied exasperatedly.

“How’s that?”

“Because _I’m_ going to change them!”

“How will you do that?”

“By-by _changing_! Fixing the problem! I’m the problem, I’m going to fix me.”

“How exactly do you need to be fixed, Stiles?”

“I have to be independent again. I have to stop moaning about how my life is over and actually _live_ it. I have to stop pretending like there’s no way to survive being blind and take my O &M training seriously. Take my _life_ seriously again. I have to-” he paused, his excitement dulling some when he finally continued, “-I have to grieve. I have to come to terms and-and let it be. I don’t want to keep reliving it...”

“Those are worthy goals, Stiles, though that is quite a lot.” She set her pad down on the table. “Tell you what - how about we give you a little help with all of this, shall we? You, me, and your O&M trainer can work on it together. What do you say?”

Stiles offered Mary a genuine smile and to be completely honest, it was possibly the first he’d had since he was kidnapped. “Yeah. Yeah okay. Thanks, Mary.”

 

Stiles had a long road ahead of him to recovery. He’d been completely ignoring his lot in life since it had happened, and that didn’t get him anywhere near where he needed to be. Like with his therapist, Stiles told his O&M trainer the truth about what he’d been doing (or rather, _not_ doing). She wasn’t surprised, obviously, but she understood where he was coming from.

“Did I ever tell you how I was blinded, Stiles?” Toni asked him quite seriously.

Stiles shook his head.

“Are you shaking your head?” Toni asked, bemusement coloring her voice.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It takes time. It’s a process. More than that, really, it’s an entire change in lifestyle. It’s like being on the Oceanic Flight 815 and having to readjust to a totally new way of life. Except not the part where you’re actually dead. Unless you _are_ and don’t know it - _wooooo_...” she said the last in a quasi-mysterious voice.

“Hey! Spoilers!”

“Oops. Sorry. You’ve already watched it anyhow.” Toni didn’t sound sorry in the least.

Stiles’ brow raised. “How do you know?”

“Sometimes I sit outside your window and reminisce my lost youth by living vicariously through you. Really though - a great mystery like that and you aren’t sticking _your_ nose in? Nonsense.” 

Stiles was suddenly struck with how much he liked Toni. He really hadn’t spoken with her much in all the time they had been together the past few months because he’d been too busy trying to avoid his reality. “Yeah, yeah. So how did it happen?” He was actually interested, too, which was a definite one-eighty for him - for pretty much everything.

“I was in a car wreck when I was 22; little bit older than you.”

“Little bit. Legally able to drink...” It wasn’t his most subtle approach, but his detective brain knew that car accidents and drinking were highly correlated.

“Astute observation, but no, I wasn’t drinking. It was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I suppose. A semi-truck lost the trailer on the highway and we drove into it before we could stop.” Toni sounded like a person who had told a story so many times that it no longer held the same emotional connotation that it should.

“Wow. That’s gruesome.”

“Yeah. I know some people who have gone through some pretty gruesome situations themselves...” That was a pretty obvious one. 

“Well. I mean, I guess...” Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I received head trauma that caused me to lose my sight,” Toni continued, easily avoiding the topic. Stiles was happy for the reprieve. 

“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t really figure out what else to say. 

“How do you think I reacted?”

“With a general sense of grace and humility and a side salad of sarcasm?” Stiles attempted.

“I tried to kill myself a month after.”

“Wha - you _did_?” Somehow he had trouble connecting Toni and thoughts like his own. It didn’t seem to compute.

“Anyone can end up going through what we have, Stiles. And there is no right or wrong way to react. The sticking point is that you can recognize your own actions for what they are - just actions. Just things that you have done in reaction to a trauma. You move forward and you forgive yourself, you apologize to them _and_ to yourself, you forgive yourself, you let others forgive you, and you start again. You work your ass off, you prove a world full of doubters wrong by telling them to ‘shove it’ and live your life to the fullest. Because being blind isn’t going to keep you from life. The only thing that will stop you from living your life is _you_. Once you get out of your own way, everything is rather simple.”

So Stiles took Toni’s advice. He got out of his own way and he started being human again. A _decent_ human. And it wasn’t easy. It was nowhere _near_ easy. Regardless of how much he wanted it, stumbling was close to an everyday occurrence. It didn’t matter why he stumbled, though, it mattered how he picked himself up afterward.

It was two a.m. when Stiles found himself sprawled on the kitchen floor with an array of plastic tupperware containers scattered all around him. He had his hands fisted into his hair and was rocking back and forth, eyes clamped tightly shut and tears filling his eyes. He’d been trying to get something to drink for at least an hour, but he couldn’t find the right freaking cupboard, much less grab a cup from it without creating a mess like the one he was surrounded by now.

He finally lost his nerve and half-screamed, half-pleaded, “ _Dad_!”

It took his father a minute to get downstairs and find him. “Stiles? What happened?” He knelt down next to his son, concern filling his voice.

“I can’t _do it_!” Stiles despaired and found himself clambering forward on the floor and throwing his body into his father’s chest. Mr. Stilinski folded Stiles into himself easily, falling back to a sitting position and rocking his son while making soothing noises into his hair. 

“You’re alright, my boy. I’m right here, I can help you.”

“No! I don’t _want_ to be helped, I want to do it on my own!” Stiles fisted his fingers into his father’s t-shirt.

“And you will, Stiles. You will, you will, it just takes time. You’ve been doing a _great_ job. You’ve been doing _so well_ recently...”

“It’s not enough! It’s still not enough. I never needed your help to get a drink of milk before...”

Mr. Stilinski smiled. “But you did.”

“What?” Stiles pulled back and faced his father.

“I raised you, kid, don’t you remember?”

Stiles scoffed. “Yeah, but back then I was just too short or too uncoordinated to do it for myself. That’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it? You were disadvantaged then and you’re disadvantaged now. The question is, what do you do about it?”

“Get a chair and climb on the counter?” Stiles joked weakly.

“Exactly,” the sheriff responded easily. “You use whatever tools you need to accomplish what you need to accomplish.” He paused for a moment before adding tentatively, “Sometimes those tools aren’t just objects... sometimes those tools help you with more than just a simple task...”

His dad wasn’t very subtle sometimes. “Okay, Dad. I’ll talk to them.”

“Okay, son. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Apologizing to Scott wasn’t so bad. He hadn’t really expected it to be, considering the way their friendship generally worked. All he really needed to say was, “Hey man, I was an idiot and an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool, I guess. So you’re gonna be you again?” Scott asked.

“As much as I can be. Thanks Scott.” Stiles held his hand out for Scott and easily performed their usual high five for the first time since he was blinded.

“Hey that was awesome, dude!” Scott laughed excitedly.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Thanks. So do you wanna help me pick out some badass shades to hide my new set of peepers? If you set me up with something shitty I’m gonna kick your ass though.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Scott teased.

Stiles jumped on his back. “I can still take you, Wolfy!”

Scott was laughing like an idiot. “Your Alpha commands that you cease and desist!”

 

Getting back to the basics was something Stiles was finally content with. But he still had discounted ever using magic again. Scott and Deaton had other ideas. Stiles held out his arm and waited as Deaton drew the rune on his arm. “Do you just want me to come back once a week or something to get them reapplied?” he asked.

“Why would you do that? Just draw it yourself.”

“Mmyeah, I’ll keep that in mind for when I need a way to blow off my arm,” Stiles mocked.

Deaton raised an eyebrow to rival Derek. “You believe that being blind prevents you from being able to draw?”

Stiles looked aghast, like this should be common sense. He turned toward Scott for support and got nothing. “Uh... _yeah_!” he finally said.

“Maybe you should tell the blind artists about this. I’m sure they would be interested in your theory.”

Stiles blanched. “Just because _they_ ca-”

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I’m a bit busy here. You can tell my suggestion box in the waiting room all about your defeatist way of life.”

His eyes went huge and his mouth hung open. “Dude!”

“I was under the impression you were looking to get your life back in order,” Deaton said simply.

“I am!” Stiles was exasperated.

“Then you’ll be here twice a week after closing,” Deaton replied matter of factly.

“ _Fine_!” Stiles practically screamed his assentiveness.

Even more than learning to walk with a cane, find things without knowing an area, discern moods from only things he could hear, learning to draw without being able to see was a challenge. Worse still was drawing something _into his skin_ that could potentially backfire and kill him. He couldn’t quite be angry with Deaton though. Magic had always been his salvation - his only escape from the crushing reality that everything he was involved in was far more dangerous than he could handle as just a regular human.

 

Stiles’ weeks were a freaking nightmare that first month and a half he started working on himself. He had rune-drawing lessons twice a week, O&M training twice a week and therapy once a week, plus he still had school and homework and chores when he got home. He literally had no time to himself and he was running ragged, but to look back at it, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He grew to be more self-sufficient and dependable for others, his attitude changed with each passing day, and he’d apologized and been forgiven by almost everyone. Almost.

“Hey,” Stiles heard from behind him and turned around to face Isaac.

“Hey,” he replied quietly. He was trying to imagine what Isaac looked like standing there in front of him right then. He probably had his arms wrapped around his waist protectively because he was uncertain about this situation - he was uncertain about Stiles now. “What are you doing with your arms?” Stiles blurted.

“Umm what?” Isaac was confused.

“Are your arms crossed over your waist?” Stiles insisted.

Isaac was presumably looking downward at himself, trying to decipher why this would be important. “Yes?” he answered tentatively.

Stiles visibly slumped, sighing. “You’re not comfortable with me anymore,” he stated simply.

“I-” Isaac was dumbfounded.

Stiles gestured behind him. “Will you come stand by me? I have something to say to you both,” he said and turned around. He felt Isaac move next to him, so very close, but still miles away. That had been _his_ doing.

He nodded. “Right. Hi Mom. I have some things I need to get off my chest. But first, I’ve got Isaac with me. I know you remember him, he’s that guy I’m da - was dating that you really liked.”

Isaac looked over at Stiles, but he didn’t say anything.

“So recently I turned into sort of a horrible asshole and treated everyone around me like shit. Worse still was that I was awful to those who were close to me. Those who were trying to help me through it.” He paused, having to take a very heavy breath before continuing. “And I didn’t think about you at all, Mom.”

He sniffed, wiping his arm across his face quickly. “And if I _had_ , well... I probably would’ve known just how disappointed you were in me. So that was a pretty good reason to just ignore you altogether. I know you already know all this, but I have to tell you in my own words.

“Then there was Isaac. Isaac’s been around so long now that it is hard to even remember what things were like without him there. My response to all that history and love was to send him away. I was rude to him even when he helped me, I pushed him around and treated him like crap, but _even then_ , he stayed. He stayed by my side, because that’s the kind of person he is - that’s the kind of _man_ that Isaac Lahey is.” Stiles couldn’t even fathom what Isaac was thinking or what his face looked like right then.

“But I told him to go. No, no it was worse than that. I told him that I didn’t want him anymore. I told him we were no longer compatible, I told him to get out of the house... I yelled at him...” Stiles was crying more intensely now, rubbing his sleeve into his eyes over and over to try and staunch the flow.

“Stiles...” Isaac said quietly. His voice sounded weak and watery too.

“No,” Stiles practically coughed out. He had to sniff a few times before he could continue. “No, no, I have to do this, Isaac. Please just listen.”

“I’m listening,” the werewolf replied weakly.

“I didn't care how it was going to affect him. I thought that I was doing him a favor by sending him away, y’know, give him the chance to live a normal life with a normal person who isn’t dependent on others just to make it through the day-to-day. But mostly it was just an excuse. It was an excuse not to face my own problems, my own issues. I knew that if Isaac stayed that he’d get me to break down, to realize the reality of my life, to fucking _accept_ what had happened to me-”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Isaac practically whimpered next to him. He could feel Isaac moving his arms and he stepped away.

“Wait. I have to finish.” He actually turned away from his mother’s grave and was facing toward Isaac now. “I’ve had some shitty things happen in my life, each time I thought - ‘this has to be the worst that will ever happen to me’ - this one, this time, has to be it. And I know that you might think the worst I’ve been through was being kidnapped, being blinded, being tortured, but it’s _not_ \- it still isn’t. The worst thing that has ever happened in my life was losing you, Isaac.” Stiles heard a sob from Isaac and tears pushed from his eyes just from the sound. “That was _my_ fault, I _know_ that, but it was terrifying and it made everything else that was happening even worse.”

“Then why did you-” Isaac protested.

“Like I said, I thought it was the best thing for you. I didn’t want to burden you, I didn’t want to cause you all of that grief, just like when we got together, Isaac, I didn’t want you to be forced to have to protect me. To look after me because I couldn’t do it myself. That’s why I started with magic in the first place - to keep you and Scott from looking back to make sure _I_ was safe before ever thinking of yourselves.”

“That would always happen, Stiles, that _still_ happens-”

“I know that. I know it now. I’ve been seeing everything backwards, in a way, but most importantly is that I screwed up. I screwed up, okay, and I know I did. I was being selfish and pretending that it was noble. I just didn’t want you to come to the realization that I was broken and useless and leave later on, so I told you to leave first. I kept it on my terms to save my own feelings and hurt you instead. There’s absolutely no way that I can make that up to you, Isaac. There’s no way that I could ever apologize for what I did, but I needed you to at least know that I am aware of my own follies and that I am sorrier than you could ever know. I will always love yo-”

The breath came out of Stiles’ chest in a puff as Isaac’s arms encircled him, squeezing him until he almost couldn’t breathe. “I love you too, Stiles,” Isaac said against his neck.

Stiles was sputtering. “W-wha? You don’t - you can’t just forgi-”

“Don’t tell me what I am and how I feel, Stiles.” Isaac responded calmly, almost fondly, and Stiles just spluttered some more.

“B-but I was - you were - I told you-”

“I know how it happened, Stiles, I was there too. And I don’t care.” Isaac pulled back and cupped Stiles’ face in his hands. “ _I don’t care_. This is all that matters. This is all that will _ever_ matter. You and I, right here, together and taking care of one another. It was never just ‘me protecting you’, Stiles. It was always two-way.”

Stiles made a weird part-wail, part-choking sound and launched forward, wrapping his arms around Isaac’s shoulders tightly. Isaac’s arms were around his waist and lifting him up from the ground for a moment.

“I love you so much, Isaac, I missed you so much, I was so goddamn scared, I was so fucking scared I’d never see you again-” he babbled, tears and saliva soaking against Isaac’s neck as he spoke.

“I thought I lost you, Stiles, I thought I let you get taken-”

“No no no, it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t, baby, it was them it was just them _Oh God_ they hurt me so much, Isaac, I wanted to _die_ -”

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you-” Isaac cooed in his ear and without any sort of introduction, Stiles just launched into the entire thing right there.

_Deucalion squeezed the rubber end and Stiles screamed - but nothing happened. The liquid hit his eye, but he didn’t feel anything but **wetness**._

_“What-?” Deucalion started and Ethan burst into a fit of malicious laughter._

_“Did you **see** his face? He was so fucking terrified! I think he pissed himself! Oh that was classic!” The werewolf doubled over with the force of his own mirth._

_Deucalion actually let out a small chuckle. “It seems we’ve both been pranked, Stiles. I am not so childish as to tease at such a base level, but you should know that keeping Alphas in line can be a difficult - and terribly trying - task. You often corral your friend Scott, am I right?”_

_Stiles’ heart was trying to beat right out of his chest. He could hear the Alphas talking to each other but it was like living in a Charlie Brown cartoon - they weren’t speaking actual words that he could understand. He had been expecting the worst and then - nothing. Stiles actually barked out a crazed-sounding laugh of relief._

_“Something funny?” Kali growled at him in annoyance._

_Stiles only just realized that one of his arms had been freed - Aiden was the only one holding him down. As soon as he took notice, Ethan was back in the room. “Here it is. None of you can deny how great that was though, really...”_

_He sat down another glass full of clear liquid and it was like time had rewinded. The fear gripped inside of Stiles’ chest and he groaned out loud, now sobbing in full, his entire body shaking from it. He swung his freed arm up and hit Kali in the back of the head before Ethan had him pinned back down. Kali’s claws dug into the flesh of his cheeks as she growled at him. “You little shit - I’m going to-”_

_“That’s enough,” Deucalion said simply and she shut up. “Right. So where were we? Ah, yes...” He pried Stiles’ eye open again, still the left one, and Stiles struggled as his body convulsed with fear. “You’re properly frightened, Stiles. That’s good; fear is a very healthy thing.”_

_“No! No please! You can’t do this, you can-” but he cut himself off. Deucalion let the liquid fall into Stiles’ eye without preamble and he was screaming in earnest this time, a blood-curdling shriek of pain and terror. His eye was **boiling** in the socket and it didn’t matter how much he blinked, how much he tried to wiggle out of the grasp of the Alphas, it continued to eat away at his vision in sickening slowness. It was absolutely nothing like passing out - his vision didn’t tunnel, he wasn’t losing first the periphery and eventually the rest. It was like black voids were cut out of his line of vision, spreading and overtaking him like a destructive stain, until finally he could only see from his right eye. He kept blinking, tried to pretend that his eye was just closed, but he knew-_

_“One eye is still better than nothing, isn’t it, Stiles?” the Alpha teased, making hope boil up in his chest. “Well, I’ll give you a moment to say farewell to your eyesight.”_

_Stiles’ brain sputtered, feebly trying to make this situation better in any way, but he came up empty. This was as bad as it got - he couldn’t imagine anything worse than this. Like he’d read Stiles’ mind, Deucalion bent down near his face and said quietly, “It can always get worse,” before forcing Stiles’ right eye open and dropping the acid home._

_As soon as it hit Stiles’ eye, his body seized and he started to have a panic attack, blocking out the pain, the gradual darkness taking over his world, absolutely everything..._

“I’ve got you, Stiles,” Isaac said again as Stiles finished his recount.

“I know. I know I’m safe now,” Stiles responded, arms squeezing Isaac’s neck tightly.

 

“Stiles, stay back!” Scott yelled, groaning as he watched his friend charge in toward the menacing werewolf.

“And miss all the action? Yeah right!” Stiles hollered back at his friend with a grin. He dodged to his left when the werewolf came charging at him, his body glowing a bright orange color one moment and then brilliant purple the next. He could hear the werewolf breathing, squaring off with him.

“Alright then, let’s see how you like _this_!” He fired his gun just as he said the last word, the bullet flying toward the wolf and hitting him directly in the chest. He howled in fury and charged at Stiles, who was frantically trying to switch his rune in time, but he misjudged the distance between himself and the werewolf and he was on him in moments, swiping a clawed hand out and striking Stiles across the face.

His glasses went flying from his face just as another wolf steamrolled the werewolf over from the side. There was the sound of ripping and tearing and a distinctive groan before Isaac was in front of him, gingerly touching the marks on his face. “You alright there, baby?”

“Did you see that?” Stiles’ mouth hung agape, still in shock. His face was a picture of pure indignation. “He broke my sunglasses!”

\- fin -


End file.
